Tempest Lords

The most regal and proud of the Stormhosts are the Tempest Lords. Taken from the strongest and most just of the rulers that fought back against Chaos, every one of these Stormcast Eternals was once a lord, a noble or a monarch. They see it as their duty to protect those less fortunate, not with edicts, but with hammer and shield.[1a]

This sense of noblesse oblige has seen dozens of mortal tribes brought from the brink of annihilation back into the fray. Those who hear the stirring oratory of the Tempest Lords find the spark of defiance flare into a roaring storm of emotion that sees them redouble their efforts, fighting valiantly alongside their saviours.[1a]

The Tempest Lords know their value well. When Sigmar told them they were each equal to a dozen mortals, they took it literally – ever since, they have kept count of the foes they have slain. For one of their number to be killed and sent back to Azyr before their tally reaches twelve is a mark of disgrace that will haunt them for years to come, while those who have not yet fallen in battle are revered as heroes, living saints of Sigmar.[1a]

Contents

The Royal Victrians have been feted in many a bard’s song, in Sigmaron and beyond. In their homelands of the Hyshian Sunwastes, the Cyroccan Dynasty was famed for its even-handed and wise rulership over a network of alabaster palaces that stretched from one side of the immense Zorastramaran Desert to the other. Nestled within as prawling chasm that pinched in the centre like the neck of an hourglass, there was no way for a traveller to pass from one side of the desert to the other without enjoying the generosity of the Cyroccan Dynasty in the process – not that anyone ever complained, for King Cyrocco’s hospitality was both extravagant and consistent, whether it was offered to a mendicant or to a king.[1b]

When the fell legions of Chaos stained the northern sands of the desert with the blood of its caravanserai tribes, every member of the Cyroccan Courts wore to stop the invaders from passing through their palaces. The Blade-limbed Butcher turned his hungry gaze to the southern peoples of the Sunwastes and commanded a mass assault upon the glittering gates and alabaster fortresses of Cyrocco’s palatial grounds. The Cyroccans had a long tradition of duelling with oakstone longhammers, weapons that can stave in a skull as easily as an iron mace, and they found their finesse equal to the raw strength of the muscle-bound killers that came against them. Under King Vittorio – the mortal that would become Lord Victrian – they held the hordes at bay for long weeks of war.[1b]

Only when the Butcher himself stormed their palace were Vittorio and his royal household laid low. But their valour did not go unnoticed. The God-King watched from high Azyr, relishing the sight of every hammer blow that took a Chaos Warrior’s head from his neck. Just as the Butcher’s warriors took their axes to the dynasty’s last defenders, the God-King spirited the Cyroccans into the heavens in a blinding flash of light. Reforged as Stormcast Eternals, they fought together as an entire Warrior Chamber, wielding hammer and mace in memory of their finest mortal hour.[1b]